Burning Wheels (CLOSED MT)

[Parilisa]

“Not a complete waste, then.” said Klein, a wry smile etched upon his face. The Council Minister for Foreign Affairs laughed at the comment as they ascended the brief flight of steps which carried them smoothly into the Government's diplomatic aeroplane, Diplojet. Standing temporarily as a mark of respect when the two men entered, the staff appeared as relaxed as ever. They were well-trained and used to these missions, and although they might have been star-struck on their first flights with the President, it had now settled into nothing more than an exciting normality.

“I thought we did quite well actually.” said Kinzel, ignoring the prolonged silence which filled the air after his initial burst of laughter. “I mean, we got just as much as we thought we'd get.”

“True.”

Klein and Kinzel took their seats, allowing the comfortable material to provide their exhausted bodies with temporary liberation. Neither of the men had slept enough over the past few days; their lives had been dictated by an endless stream of meetings, reports and briefings. Although such things existed in great quantities at home, things seemed so much more draining when carried out thousands of miles away from the more familiar surroundings of the Presidential Office.

“President Klein, Minister.”

The Captain, who appeared to have manifested, rather than arrived, nearby, offered out a friendly hand to the two officials. They shook it; both men had good relations with the staff and the captains was a particularly good-natured individual. He exuded an aura of traditional honesty and common sense, the sort of warm and humorous person who it was impossible to upset. His good reputation preceded him, and although he was a rather fat fellow he strode through the plane with the air of a man with authority and influence. Even Klein regarded the man with a degree of awe.

“We'll be off in about quarter of an hour, straight across Tarquinia, headed west, of course. We should have reached Aerova by some time in the evening, and we intend to stop by in Talbin to refuel. Hopefully we'll be touching down in Prezdorf some time early tomorrow morning.”

“Wonderful.” replied the President. “A couple of hours in Talbin will be lovely. Might give us a chance to catch up on some sleep.”

The High Chancellery, Prezdorf, Parilisa

“Good morning Chancellor.”

“Morning.”

Chancellor Ezekiel passed through the security with very little disturbance. Feeling no need to raise the Government ID card which was pinned to the front of his sweeping greatcoat, he strode with powerful, deliberate strides up the steps of the short, squat palace and entered the thronging foyer. This was his place of work; an abandoned palace, once operated by some wealthy bishop, it now served as a sprawling network of offices, meeting rooms and conference halls for his command as he attempted in earnest to steer the machinations of democratic Government. Parilisa's constitution shared power between both a directly elected President and a parliamentarian representative, so that the people of the state were able to speak not just through one mouth but through two. Over the past few days, however, the President's absence meant that Ezekiel and only Ezekiel had served as the figurehead for Government, and although meetings with the cabinet had been regular, they were largely uneventful.

Today was his last day in charge and as he headed to his morning briefing he could not help but feel a sense of satisfaction. Although the days had not been difficult, the scrutiny which the press had put him under was almost unbearable. He speculated that somebody in the Communications Department was failing to control the amount of information about his reign which was being leaked by various sections of the office. Such things were part of the normal world of politics, but it was presumed that the public-relations-media-genius Joe Heind would make some effort to sort things out. That, however, was simply not happening.

Kissing his fingers and placing them on the Mezuzah affixed to the entrance to his office, Ezekiel murmured a brief morning prayer. One of many Jews in Parilisan Government, he had suffered extraordinary terrors under the fascist regime and was constantly thankful to those who had liberated him. He worked with pride in the heart of the nation's democracy, rectifying the wrongs perpetrated by the anti-Semitic King who had stood before the collapse of the Empire and the Faustist Revolution.

“OK then people, let's get down to business.” Ezekiel glided into the room, placed his suitcase on the table and turned to face the several people who had gathered for the briefing.

“So, as you know this is my last day on my own. Big Klein is coming home tomorrow to hold my hand and wipe up any mess that I've made. The line we're going for in the press is pretty damn simple; the old “nothing-much-has-happened-and-that's-bloody-brilliant strategy. I want that ringing from every newspaper headline, TV bulletin and radio broadcast in the nation. Have you got that, Mr Dexter?”

Dexter, a member of the Communications Department nodded and made a note in the little book he had held in the palm of his hand.

“Now, a little bird tells me that there's plenty of shit flying around about a certain Council Minister's daughter. I do not want the defining image of my few days in charge to be of young Julia Sauter injecting heroin into her eyeballs in order to escape from reality. It's not a pleasant metaphor. I'll be having a word with Adelonda later, but in the meantime I don't want any CM's saying anything which strays from the party line.”

“What is the party line?” asked Kluger, a young civil servant. He looked like a 12 year old, although it was possible that he was reaching his middle age.

“The party line is everyone shuts their mouths and pretends there's no problem. It's gonna be dealt with in private and it's gonna be dealt with quickly. Other than that there's no need for any of you guys to worry about it.”

“Now, I think that covers everything. Let's all look forward to Klein coming back, eh?”

Parilisan Special Intelligence Service Headquarters, Prezdorf, Parilisa

“So what you're telling me is, you can't find where this money is coming from? You've got one of the most complicated intelligence systems you could ever hope for and you can't track some shitty little transaction?”

“Mr Kahr, it is possible that the transaction didn't even occur within our jurisdiction. The funding could be coming from elsewhere.”

Jacob Kahr, head of the PSIS, was not a man renowned for his patience with staff. It remained beyond him why the Political Funding Authority had felt the need, had felt the issue to be of such great importance, to direct the issue through to the Intelligence Service. Apparently, there were several unsual amounts of cash landing in the bank accounts of senior figures in the Catholic Conservative Party, which were significant enough to be considered a matter of national interest.

Normally a few strongly-worded letters would be sent and nothing more would be done about the issue. But this was part of a wider culture of poor accounting from the CCP and the head of the Funding Authority seemed desperate to put a stop to it.

“Then go and fucking find it!”

Communications Department, Presidential Offices, Prezdorf, Parilisa

Amidst the winding corridors of power there was an office, staffed to the brim and bursting with angry young men, which was called, quite simply, the Communications Department. Here in this smoke-filled, dark and sleazy section of the establishment, the formidable Joe Heind led his little army of bullies, who spat, shouted and stabbed their way around Prezdorf with the authority of the world behind them. Their role was simple; they were to control the media. They had no legal power, they could not censor or restrict, they could not produce propaganda, they could not force anyone to apologise for things that were said. But they could spin, they could stir and they could abuse those with authority, turning the news against itself, sending out contradictory messages and making sure that the President's message was the one which got heard.

The President despised him and despised his attitude, but Heind knew more than anyone alive about the media, and more importantly, about people. He knew how to turn headlines in Klein's favour, he knew how to have floundering, flailing minister appear as a political colossus on some televised debate and he knew how to transform the President from a radical political entity to a living, breathing god.

The department was always chaotic.

“Right, find where this heroin bollocks is coming from and kill it. Nip it in the bud. No, don't just nip it, burn the fucking bud and then rip the whole fucking bush up by the roots.”

“Has the Minister made a comment yet? She better not have made a comment, 'cause if she makes one fucking mistake she'll get the fucking sack.”

“What's Ezekiel's stance on it?”

“Who gives a fuck what that wrinkly ball-bag thinks. Just spin the shit out of this story. Make her the victim. Make the Minister a loving mother. Whatever happens, no-one is to know about her own little fucking problems, alright?”

“When the hell is Klein getting back? We need some moral fucking high-ground round here again. The moral fucking high ground was good, wasn't it?”

The wheels of Government turned and turned; amidst the swearing, the shouting, the plotting, the leaking and the sighing, democracy strived ever onwards.

[The Wolf Hold]

[[OOC:Posted at 6am with no sleep, probs subject to changes]]

Military Intelligence Service HQ- Syzran- Nidia

"Is it ever sunny in this fucking country" Muttered a Federal Guardsman as he crushed his cigarette under his boot looking up at the overcast sky. His compatriot pulling his long black storm coat a bit snugger around his shoulders. They were two of the many Guardsmen that stood watch outside the grim and foreboding gothic structure of the headquarters of the Military Intelligence Service. The monolithic, grey mason and steel building was built like an armoured cathedral from a science fiction novel. Towering, vaulted spires rose up from the main body of the building with crenulated anti-air emplacements acting as a memorial to the age of suspicion and fortification that had created the MIS under Marshall Cain. The great fortress-citadel of Nidia's of the mysterious and powerful MIS was located to the south of the capital, away from the main metropolitan areas to prevent the average Nidian from prying to deep into their nation’s secrets.

"It's never sunny around this place...I want my transfer" The deep growl of the guardsman’s voice echoed slightly around the gate house as they sheltered from the icy wind. Pulling out and lighting a second’s cigarette before offering one to his fellow. As turned his back to shield the cigarette from the wind a loud horn blared of in the direction of the perimeter fence. Then both guardsmen's radios crackled to life with an urgent and slightly panic stricken young voice.

"Open the main gate. Runner inbound, priority magenta."

"Another day in the office” One guardsman muttered as he deftly slid his key card through the reader located next to the gate. A klaxon wailed and red lights flashed as the thick armoured door began to slowly retract into the gate house roof, the staff car screeching through the opening.

Federal Council Chambers- Syzran- Nidia

Nathaniel Hope gazed around his new office. Passing his hand over the surface of the hard, varnished oak surface of his desk. Taking in the smell of the new leather furniture. Finally he let his eyes rest on the two flags placed behind his desk. One was the Nidian national flag with the black wolf howling to the sky, the other was that of his city Wolverhampton. It was part of that city he now represented in the Federal Council. He was the Council Member for the Wolverhampton south-west constituency in the Federal Region of Novamoya. He was amongst the first set of council members elected after Marshall Fell re-instated the Federal Council, revoking Cain’s abolishment of it.

"Smell that John?"

"The upholstery sir?" Hope's adjutant and now personal assistant John Carney gave the room a very unfriendly stare. He disagreed with most of Fell's so called re-instatements. Carney and others who thought like him were often known as Cainites, soldiers, officers and civilians who believed that Nidia had been better off under Marshall Cain but Carney put his personal feelings aside when it came to his job. Him and Hope had always been together, all the way through their careers in the military. Nathaniel Hope was a tall, pale, powerfully built but slim man whilst is slight contrast John Carney was broad set, slightly shorter but built like a bull, his skin black as the night.

"No you fool. That is the smell of Democracy. The smell of Marshall Fell's wonderful re-instatement of our constitution." He paced around his table, still drifting his hand over the surface before lowering himself down into the large leather armchair behind it. "Plus you have to admit. It beats those temporary offices we were given."

"True. Very true sir" Carney's disdain was thinly veiled but Hope chose to ignore his adjutants behaviour. His skills far outweighed any problems that he created. "Now if you excuse me sir, I have to deliver the readiness reports of Wolverhampton's militia and your expenses forms"

"Very well Captain. You are excused. Can you send in Parker on your way out, ask him to bring the latest draft of the Equality Act please."

Carney saluted and left the room with a sharp and precise military turn, his boots thudding gently on the soft carpet. Hope returned to his papers as he awaited his secretary and the documents required for today’s work. All across the building similar meetings were going on as the newly restored legislature of Nidia flexed its muscles.

NEADS Control Centre-Merska Airbase-North Nidia

The loud chink of china and the strong aroma of caffeine brought warrant officer Matthew Mason out of his day dream. His eyes focused back on his screen and then looking suddenly up at the smiling face of his supervisor, Captain Mark Fairchild. "Wakey, wakey sleeping beauty. I know its the grave yard shift but come on, we gotta watch out for those flocks of birds. Its a serious job" The four others soldiers in the large room chuckled at Fairchild’s small joke.

They were the grave yard shift at the North-East Air Defence Sector or NEADS. They were responsible for monitoring all outgoing and incoming aircraft passing through or near Nidian airspace. It was also their responsibility to vector in intercepts and in a worse case scenario, interface with AWACS and the Larka ADCC to act as the central command and control for air forces in the North East.

"So then Mason, anything on your screen?" Mason sipped his coffee and refocused on the display which gave him the readings from the furthest radar insulations on the coast. After a brief scan, Mason did a double take. Reading and re-reading the IFF key displayed under one particular contact. "Sir...I got a Parilisan diplomatic airline flying just north of our airspace."

"What? Seriously? Wow, never thought Parilisan's would ever fly this close to Nidia." Fairchild turned his eyes up to the main board, checking the location of the Parilisians to that of any nearby Nidian aircraft. "Mason, order that flight of Tempests to keep their distance on patrol, we don’t need another diplomatic incident."

"Yes sir! Re-directing Blackjack squadron flights 3 and 5"

[Parilisa]

DIPLOJET, North of Nidian Airspace

“Just north of Nidian Airspace. We should probably avoid entering unless it’s an emergency, we know what they’re like.” Said the Pilot, as cheerful as always.

The co-pilot did not reply. He was new and not very talkative at all, which the Captain found somewhat annoying. Flights felt very lonely when they were spent in silence, especially to the social and outgoing leader of the trip. He decided that, if the co-pilot would not talk, he would simply carry on talking to pass the time.

“Of course, relations with Nidia have improved greatly over the past few months. Nobody ever expected the Treaty of Exengrad, did they?”

Still, silence.

“Not interested in the news, eh? What about sport? What team do you follow?”

Silence.

“You really aren’t a very talkative chap are you?”

“Shut your fat mouth, idiot.” Spat the co-pilot, breaking his self imposed silence with a malicious tone. The pilot was completely shocked, and his slightly stubbly chin dropped. Before he could speak, however, the co-pilot had drawn a knife from some concealed place about his person, and was gesturing cruelly towards the flabbergasted fat man.

“Wha-”

The co-pilot plunged the blade into the man’s throat, sending a froth of cruelly coloured fluid dribbling from his jaw. A perplexed look crawled across his face as his entire body fell forwards, smashing against the controls of the plane. Attempting to drag the corpse’s colossal weight away from the important system of dials and switches, the co-pilot stood, and as the two rolled about in a horrific and sadistic dance, one of them placed part of their body in the wrong place, and the entire thing juddered and stuttered beneath them. Glancing instinctively towards the window, the co-pilot noticed that the plane had adopted a slightly downwards incline, and desperately pushed his whole weight against the corpse. At long last it rolled of the controls and occupied a place in a pool of blood on the floor. Wiping his knife on his uniform trousers, he pulled the plane out of the downwards slant and placed it back on a more normal course.

High Chancellery, Prezdorf, Parilisa

“What I’m saying, Adelonda, is simple.” Said the Chancellor, his fingers tenderly stroking his dusty-brown beard. “I can put a lid on all of this nonsense in the press, but you need to make sure that your daughter has kicked the habit within a few months.”

“Of course, Chancellor. Of course.” Sauter was desperate to please the man. Her career seemed imperiled by the allegations raging against her in the press, and nothing mattered more to her than keeping her beloved job. A former director of an art gallery, culture meant so much to Adelonda Sauter, and she truly believed that her time in the Ministry had been beneficial to millions of people around the country.

“We can send her wherever she needs to go. You are surely aware that drugs treatment is freely available on the Public Health Service?”

“Yes, of course Chancellor. To be honest this is all a bit of a relief.” She replied, a slight blush tainting her cheeks.

“Oh?”

“I thought that the reason you called me here today was, you know, to make me resign.”

“Adelonda, that is absolutely ridiculous. The President is very satisfied with your work, as am I. We wouldn’t push you out over something as trivial as this.”

Communications Department, Prezdorf, Parilisa

“Mr Hendrick.”

Joe Heind spoke to Hendrick so often these days that he had the newspaper baron’s personal number stored in his phone. Neither of the two men liked each other, but they often came to mutual arrangements after several minutes of shouting.

“Listen, you fat fuck, this is about the Sauter thing…Yeah, well I don’t care what your journalist says she heard, this shit is gonna get buried…Oh, isn’t it? Well in that case, you massive donkey dick, I’m gonna make sure you never get another story again. No more leaks out of this office, no more exclusive interviews with the President. Every other fucking agent in the country is gonna be drowning in story offers and you’re just gonna be drowning in your own steamy, stinking shit…Yeah, you should. Yeah, that’s right…Right, fuck off then.”

Heind returned the mobile to his pocket with a sigh.

“I’ve buried the Sauter story, ladies and gentlemen. Let’s get back to business.”

PSIS HQ Prezdorf, Parilisa

Nobody seemed to have made any progress on the issue of party funding, but Kahr wasn’t particularly concerned. His main interest today was the President’s plane, which he was now carefully watching on the massive observation screen on his office. The screen was able to have masses of information streamed to it, and it was where most of the Director’s knowledge was gathered from. In this plush, modernistic office he had the nation’s intelligence completely available to him.

“He’ll be flying over Nidia right now, won’t he?” asked Kahr’s young secretary. A woman whose blond curls hung casually around her head like a crown, she would one day lead a successful career in the PSIS. It took a lot of work to get oneself a job in the office of one of the nation’s most powerful men. “Is that safe?”

“You mean will those savages bomb the hell out of him?” said the man, his feline features suddenly animated by an outburst of laughter. “No, they’ve changed. They seem to have changed, anyway. Fell is a reformer. Not a Klein-style nationalization of the health-service, votes for everyone, Human Rights obsessive sort of reformer. But he’s certainly not a Cain-style bomb it if it can walk sort of leader either. If I’m honest, I quite like him. I think the President quite likes him secretly too.”

“He never seems to on TV.”

“Well he can’t, can he? Can he really express over the moon happiness for a man whose nation bombed Exengrad? Of course not, but he can say that Fell’s reforms are “a step in the right direction” and that “he’s preferable to the other bloke”. He’s safe flying north of Nidia. Honestly, nothing is going to happen to him.”

On the screen, the plane juddered a little, and then continued on its course.

[The Wolf Hold]

NEADS Control Centre-Merska Airbase-North Nidia

"Backfire 4 and 5 bring your sweep north of Kalin then RTB. Backfire 3 and 2 I need you to pass over Southern Mastov and join up with Backfire 1 and 6 before RTBing."

Matthew Mason droned on into his headset, issuing more patrol commands as the small hours of the night ticked on by. He was thoughrly bored, his recent transfer to NEADS had gone downhill ever since his first day. A forward air battle controller, with over two hundred hours combat experience in AWACS he had been shifted sideways to NEADS to fill a hole in their command staff. When he had read the brief it hadn't looked that bad. "Protecting Nidia's skies day and night" was their motto and slogan, so it had sounded pretty exciting. That was until he had sat his fist two or three shifts with absolutely bugger all happening. As the weeks turned into months he grew increasingly unhappier, he was used to the thrill of being strapped into the seat of an AWACS, commanding planes into combat. Not sitting on his ass all night watching dots move across a screen.

Deciding that Nidia wouldn't fall if he went for a walk to stretch his legs, he took off his head set, flicked his station to standby and went to grab his greatcoat from the cloakroom at the back. As he shrugged on the heavy but warm greatcoat, he smoothed down the jet black material. Checking his pockets for a packet of cigarettes he moved to the side exit, stepping out into the cold night. Using the control centre building as a wind shield he lit up a cigarette, taking a long, slow drag on it. Setting off down a dimly let path, his boots crunched on the thin covering of snow. He was no more then a minute into the walk before he heard boots coming up behind him. Turning around slowly, he saw the radiant face of Mark Fairchild.

"Thought you could use some company. Nothing happening so thought I could sneak some private time with you."

"You know Mark you can be such a horn dog outside, hell how do you do get so horny when its naught degrees?"

"Because I love you?"

"Well your still not getting anything tonight I'm too tired. Come on hun. Lets finish this walk" As the two males walked of around the corner, their hands intertwined, on Mason's screen the small jitter of the symbol donating the DIPLOJET went unnoticed.

Military Intelligence Service HQ- Syzran- Nidia

The intelligence had arrived inside the inner sanctum five minutes after the runner had arrived at the main gate. Three minutes after that, the entirety of Section 5 of the MIS had arrived in the inner sanctum. From then on the decibel level in the inner sanctum hadn't fallen from on high. The controversial nature of the Intel combined with who it concerned revealed the mixed feelings all around the room.

Section 5 was some of the top minds in the entirety of the Nidian intelligence committee. They were responsible for the analysis and dissemination of any pieces of intelligence that rated over omega clearance. It was formed from the chiefs of several other MIS units, the most prominent being Max Ralinkov a tall and thick set man, with a shaven head was head of the MIS Joint Intelligence Unit. Nathaniel Zavi, a slightly smaller but no less well built man, commander in chief of the Direct Action Division, Section 1. The third, chief member was Catherine Brook, average sized, with dark brown hair and a body of a marine, she was the tough as nails commander of Task Force Night, the elite counter terrorism and internal security unit of the MIS. The rest of Section 5 was formed up of other leading intelligence analysts and operations agents of the MIS

"Shouldn't we pass this onto the Parilisan embassy? Maybe we can get a warning to Kelin through them." Zavi was the most pro-Parilisan and one of the staunchest supporters of Fell around the table. He had played an instrumental part in helping Fell and Furness plan operation Iscariot, he had also pledged to use his direct action groups in support of Parilisan troops.

"Fuck them! Kelin can burn. Its all he deserves." Ralinkov had never liked Parilisans having lost a brother at Exengrad. He was also a Cainite through and through, one of the so called 'old guard', members of the military that had survived Fell's purge of the ranks, despite his open support for Cain.

Brook looked over the document, she still was unsure. She made a policy of being sure on each decision she made and as tempers ran riot around the table as intelligence chiefs, analysts and operatives yelled at each other, in a sleep deprived , childish argument she realised a man's life and a nation stood on the edge of the abyss. "Shut up! All of you! You are like a bunch of four year olds. Get a grip and start acting your age. Now what do we know?"

A young looking analyst spoke up, his voice sure and firm despite the fact he had just usurped quite a few superiors "We have magenta class intelligence from our highest placed source in the anti-Klein camp, Beagle. It has also been confirmed with information supplied to us by Malamute and Terrier. It regards a plot to kidnap or assassinate President Klein of the Republic of Parilisa at some time during his flight back to Haven."

"Where is Klein now?"

"Flying just north of Nidia Ma'am. I believe on NEADs scopes." Another analyst spoke up, this one not as sure, his answer brief.

"Right...I think we should pass this up to the Marshall's let them make the call."

There was a murmur of nods from the over tired officials. None of them felt ready to deal with such controversial information his early in the morning. Brook rolled her eyes and dismissed them. She felt fully awake, surprising really as she had only had two hours sleep in two days but as he marched in the direction of her office, she was playing through worst and best case scenarios in her head.

Vice-Marshall's Office-Syzran-Nidia

Vice-Marshall of the Nidian Federation Rebecca Furness wanted nothing more then to go to bed. It was three AM and she had been up till twelve reviewing new ILAS flagged FAST (Federal Anti-Slavery Taskforce) patrols on the edge of Tarquinian waters. However after receiving her brief of Section 5 of the MIS she knew what had to be done. Marshall Fell was determined to improve relations with Parilisa and this was a perfect opportunity to do so, as well as the fact it would be unconscionable to let a fellow head of state be captured and there nation fall into disarray.

It was because of this she found herself calling the Parilisan embassy in the early hours of the morning, demanding to be put on directly with the Ambassador, only telling the secretary it was about a crucial matter that affect Parilisan state security.

[Parilisa]

Parilisan Embassy, Nidia

Some would say that it was the hardest job in the world. The press had hounded him since his arrival in Nidia, criticizing every step he took, monitoring every move he made. Since the Treaty of Exengrad had been signed, it was appropriate once again for Parilisa to have an Ambassador in the country, and Alexander Köhle was the man entrusted with the task.

Köhle, a largely unknown man, had been a key architect in the Treaty. The Foreign Ministry Civil Servant with a pretty average Curriculum Vitae had been head of the mysterious “Resolution Committee” during the period of tense relations with Nidia. His task had been simple; he was to lead the small group of men and women who worked in preparation for the moment when Klein was able to secure peace. They had encouraged Government support for Iscariot, although the Operation had been cancelled when the Darfolk Crisis exploded onto the international stage. They had submitted the first draft of the Treaty of Exengrad to Klein and Ezekiel, before the two men edited it violently and passed it on to the National Assembly. Being appointed Parilisan Ambassador to Nidia was supposed to have been a reward, a commendation and recognition of Köhle’s achievements. It seemed more like a punishment.

The Embassy was small, considerably smaller than his old offices back home in Parilisa. He would much rather have been posted somewhere slightly warmer, somewhere like Zinaire or Oseato. Leaving Haven was an adventure, but it also meant that going home took several days, and he despised flying. Perhaps, he thought, he was too miserable. Then again, anyone surrounded by a nation of people who held you in great suspicion was not likely to be amongst the happiest men in the world.

At least he got Parilisan newspapers. They sometime arrived late, but at least they always arrived, and internet access meant that he was still able to keep up with affairs back home. The Adelonda Sauter crisis was interesting; it dominated a few sections of the media, but it seemed to be being kept at bay. Stories such as this had so much room for development, and the press normally kept them up for a few weeks, driving ministers into resignation and so fuelling the press fire further. Here, however, the media seemed reluctant to talk too much about it; it slowly appeared to be becoming a taboo subject. The Communications Department would, presumably, be behind that.

Köhle’s first few weeks in the Civil Service we spent there, but his real passion was for diplomacy and Heind quickly had him shifted to the Ministry for Foreign Affairs. The two had disliked each other strongly, and the Ambassador still felt a sense of disgust for the old bully. Whilst he was willing and able to protect Sauter, Heind had never made any steps to shelter him from the fury of the media when he had first being posted to Nidia.

The phone on his desk started ringing, and he picked it up reluctantly. It was late at night, and the Ambassador would not have been awake had he not being expecting a call from the Chancellor.

“Vice-Marshall Furness wants to speak to you, Ambassador.” Said his secretary. Not the Chancellor, then, but someone of especial importance here. Furness seemed to be one of the pro-Parilisan camp, and the Parilisan was, therefore, more than happy to make a little time for her.

“Put her through then…” he mumbled, with a yawn.

“Good evening Vice-Marshall, how can I help you?”

[The Wolf Hold]

Vice-Marshall's Office-Syzran-Nidia

Furness reviewed the electronic dossier in front of her, flicking the pages by sliding her finger across the touch screen. She was still horrified by the contents of it, partly because she actually liked Klein, he was a nice enough man when not fired up. The dossier seemed to include the entire plan for kidnapping Klein, from start to finish, infiltration to extraction. Moving from the touch screen to a mug of coffee she took a sip of the hot liquid, quickly swallowing it as she heard the Parilisan ambassador Alexander Köhle come on the line. Her personal experiences with Köhle were limited, having only met him a few times fleetingly, but from what Fell and others had told her, he seemed like he really wanted Nidian-Parilisan relations to work. She only hoped that he could pull through with this crisis.

"Evening to you Ambassador, I do apologise if I woke you but I have something I think you should see. I am sending it to your desk now." With a few more taps of her computers touch screen, Furness had sent the dossier over a highly encrypted BASTION link to the computer of a similar make embedded into the ambassador’s desk. Furness allowed him a few seconds to open the file before continuing.

"This was obtained by the Military Intelligence Service earlier tonight and confirmed moments ago. As you can see Mr Ambassador this document outlines a plan to kidnap your president Klein whilst he is in transit just north of Nidia. Whilst we do not make a habit of sharing the findings of our intelligence service I believe these are extenuating circumstances. I cannot hope to imagine the crisis Parilisa might suffer if Klein was captured by his enemies. Not to mention the effect it would have on Nidian-Parilisan relations’, bearing in mind it is happening off our coast."

Furness paused slightly, letting the news and her words sink in. Still flicking through other parts of the dossier that detailed what Nidian forces and assets were in the vicinity of the DIPLOJET that could respond if the Parilisans asked for their assistance.

"Mr Ambassador, I wish to assure you that the full resources of the Military Federation stand ready to assist you if you need our help. I know this must be a lot to hit you with so late at night but time is off the essence."

[Parilisa]

Parilisan Embassy, Nidia

“Fuck.” Said the Ambassador, before remembering that he was on the phone to the second most powerful person in the country.

The information which was currently sat on the small screen on his desk was enough to make the man shudder with fear. He could not imagine the Republic without Klein. The SDP were a divided party, and if Ezekiel were to be left in charge then the entire fabric of Parliament would split. Coalitions would rise and fall, but arguments and ideological misunderstandings would create a toxic assembly; the perfect place for extremists to thrive. Klein’s death, at this fragile moment, would herald the beginning of a new, dark era of Parilisan politics.

“Vice-Marshall, you have my most sincere thanks for alerting me to this. Although I have no authority over this, I beg you to have that plane brought down. If it hasn’t already been taken then your air force must escort it to the nearest airport.”

“I’m going to forward this to the Special Intelligence Service in Prezdorf. The head there is the man best placed to deal with this. But the President is a long way from home, and we need your people to act. I’m going to call for my car and head over there so I can keep a closer eye on things. Shall I come to your office or the MIS?”

PSIS HQ, Prezdorf, Parilisa

Kahr turned to the screen on his desk, which was making an infuriatingly high-pitched bleeping noise. It wanted something, and whatever it was apparently couldn’t wait. Flicking a switch on his desk, he sent the data through a secure link to the screen on the back wall of his office. Then, his jaw dropped.

“Good God…”

Submerged in silence for a moment, he was confused. How had his own sources not traced this? How had the Nidians caught it before him? Was this some sort of plot by Fell, that crafty, sly little traitor?

He pushed another button and spoke into the microphone, sending his voice down the various speakers implanted throughout the walls of the formidably secure building.

“This is Kahr. All Level Three staff members get to my office. Now.”

As his mind came into focus and he concentrated the entirety of his cognitive ability on the task at hand, he picked up the phone on his desk and dialed the Chancellor.

High Chancellery, Prezdorf, Parilisa

“What is it Kahr?”

“Mr Chancellor, we have a national crisis.”

“What?”

“President Klein is about to be kidnapped. Under Article 17 of the Constitution of the Republic, I am appointing you, in the absence of other authority, Acting-President of Parilisa. I suggest that you get over here immediately.”

“Fuck.”

“Mr Chancellor…I mean, Mr Acting-President, it is likely that whoever is doing this has contacts inside the Civil Service. I suggest that you allow me to place lockdowns on all Government buildings.”

“Yes…yes, do that.”

“Republican Guardsmen will be posted at all significant spots. I also suggest that we try to keep this out of the press for as long as possible.”

“Yes, I’ll speak to the Communications Department.”

“And Mr Acting-President…”

“What, Kahr?”

“I don’t want you…I mean, I suggest that you don’t make any statements to the press about anything. Your best bet is to leave things with me, OK?”

Kahr put down the phone. Ezekiel grabbed his coat and dashed out of the office, aware that the nation was now being run by the PSIS, and that the President’s future was in uncertain hands.

[The Wolf Hold]

Vice-Marshall's Office-Syzran-Nidia

Furness forgave the Ambassadors expletives, she probably would be using the exact same words if it was Fell who had been kidnapped. "Do not worry for your president's safety ambassador, I have already issued the scramble call to all Federal Air forces assets in the vicinity. We will make sure he lands safely. Also head directly to Federal High Command ambassador, I'll clear you through security so we can both monitor the situation from the command centre there. Now if you will excuse me sir. I will see you soon." Furness put the phone down and checked her computer screen to make sure the scramble call had gone through to NEADs.

Her aide, Major Scaffer stood in the shadows, already busying himself clearing the Parilisans through the security on his data slate. "Ma'am do you think it wise to let the Parilisan ambassador into one of our militaries nerve centres?" He queried curiously. "I mean High Command is one of our most sensitive locations and last time I checked we weren’t best buds with the Parilisans. There was enough fuss when we let the Oseatons go for a tour around it, but now we are going to let a Parilisan just waltz in? Sorry Ma'am it just seems dangerous."

"Your point is valid Major. However I will personally make sure the Parilisan Ambassador doesn’t go walk about. Just make sure he isn't shot on sight by the Guardsmen." Furness grabbed her coat of the back of her chair as Scaffer followed her, inputting ambassador’s data into his date slate. "You will meet him at the gate I presume?"

"Yes I will. After you are finished with that Major I need you to brief Marshall Fell on the situation. That is if Section 5 hasn’t done so already. After that I need you to contact a council member for me. A Nathaniel Hope, CM for Wolverhampton North East. Send him to High Command when you get hold of him. Then that will be all"

"Yes Ma'am." Scaffer knew better then to ask the reasons for Furnesses orders. He knew he had to complete the orders as fast a possible and not question the orders, as most of the time the safety of Nidia rested on them.

NEADS Control Centre-Merska Airbase-North Nidia

"Mason? Fairchild? Where the fuck are you two?" Alarms were ringing all around the base. A booming voice filling the air as it called all personnel to their station. In the midst of it was Flight Sergeant Jason McCord, great coat flapping in the wind, radio clasped in his hand as he ran wildly about the base. "Fucking hell you two answer your fucking radio's, we got a fucking crisis and the watch officer and his boyfriend disappears! Just you wait till this gets reported!" A long time friend of both Mason and Fairchild, McCord was desperate to find them before someone cottoned on as to where they were. He glanced down at his watch, two minutes since the klaxons had started to ring and not a word. Thankfully it was then his radio buzzed with Mason's voice.

"Fuckin hell Jason, calm down. Where on our way to you now"

"Hurry up. I gotta brief you before you get inside, I'm by the mess hall"

McCord looked left and right, straining his eyes through the darkness, trying to pick out his friends faces from all the other troops. He spotted the two sprinting through a crowd of Air Defence troops, knocking a few of them down. He waved his radio in the air to attract their attention. "Next time you two go off to have a quick fuck, do it when you’re off fucking duty! Damn you both, we got a fucking crisis and you two are off rutting behind the bike shed. Don't even think about denying it, I can smell it coming off both of you!" After a few deep breaths he beckoned for them to follow him back to the control centre. "We have just received a class 1 emergency scramble order, across all of the NEAD."

Mason looked incredulous as he hurried to keep up with McCord and Fairchild. "All of the NEAD? What the fuck? Are we being invaded?"

"No, thank Fenrir. The Parilisan President's has been kidnapped and his plane hijacked just outside of our airspace. The Vice-Marshall has ordered every immediate response fighter to scramble to intercept the aircraft. So far we are co-ordinating, but if you don’t report in Larka ADCC is going to take over."

"Wait. We're rescuing Klein?" This time it was Fairchild's turn to be surprised, stumbling slightly as they sprinted up a flight of stairs.

"Yes, yes we are. Direct orders from FED COM. We are to force the plane to land at a Nidian airport by any means necessary."

Before Mason or Fairchild could speak further they were through the big armoured doors that led to the now bustling heart of NEADS. Fairchild immediately resumed the role of the watch officer, Mason slipping back off to his desk. "All stations sound off. What squadrons do we have in the air?"

"Blackwatch, Backfire and Minx Squadrons have their IR flights airborne. Sampson, Ricochet and Rapid squadrons are launching now. Mammoth, Elephant and Eagle Falls squadrons moving to +5 " One controller rang out, her voice clear and crisp as she kept her eyes firmly fixed on their screen.

"Very good. Have we got any TO Squadrons in the AO?"

"Yes sir. War Vixen and Blackjack squadrons are on afterburner towards the target sir. ETA five minutes." Another operator, located further up the room called out, sending a display that depicted the positions of the squadrons to Fairchild's screen.

"Affirmative. Nearest airbase to the target?"

"That would be Skaff Air Force Base. Home to the 4th regiment of the FVD. Want me to put them on alert?"

"Yes please Captain. Also deploy our Wolf Recon assets to that field as well."

War Vixen 1-1 Callsign: Palla - Just leaving Nidian Airspace

The twelve F-26A Tempests roared through the air, after burners tracing a fiery line in the sky. Painted a crimson red with white markings along their fuselage, they had a motif of a crouching armoured vixen painted underneath their cockpits. They were the ace pilots of the 615th Tactical Operations Squadron, veterans of air superiority and interdiction missions from every conflict Nidia had participated in. Flying in a tight V-formation they banked to the left as they set on a final intercept vector.

"This is War Vixen 1-1 to AWACS Angel Star. Requesting confirmation on final intercept vector." The commander of War Vixen was a tough as nails female veteran of the Four Heaton’s invasion Squadron Leader Martha Fenix, where she personally had shot down two flights of enemy F-22s single handily. For such acts of bravery that insured the survival of several crucial AWACS over the coast she had been awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross and handed command of War Vixen.

"AWACS Angel Star to War Vixen 1-1, intercept vectors confirmed. Proceeded to target at maximum thrust. BE advised Black Jack Squadron is approaching from the opposite side. Further instructions to be transmitted upon visual with the target."

"Acknowledged Angel Star, War Vixen out." The aircraft continued their relentless acceleration towards the target. All across the north of Nidia aircraft launched from their airfields, setting up impenetrable walls of jamming and military might in an attempt to force the hijackers down. Just to add to the kidnappers woes, two of Nidia's best squadrons descended upon them. Ironically one of them, Blackjack squadron was the one that had conducted the Parilisan false flag operations during the Darfolk crisis.

[Parilisa]

High Chancellery, Prezdorf, Parilisa

Sauter spent a few moments on the phone to her husband, before descending the steps which led down from the Offices and into the eloquent foyer of the Chancellery. Her mind was now so perfectly at ease that she took a moment to look up to the curving dome of the roof above her. According to a book she had read, the dome had been emblazoned with religious imagery when the palace had been inhabited by the noble bishops, but these had been quickly replaced once the revolution had established the Republic. Now, the crest of the Chancellor, the eagle clasping the triple arrows of Faustism, gazed down upon her, just as pious and sacred as any cruciform scene could be.

The doors were blocked.

Three men, clad in the black uniform of the Republican Guard, were standing at the entrance to the foyer, their PRG-613As held with intimidating somberness. She approached, confident that as a Minister she would be permitted to pass. Holding her ID card up respectfully, she was surprised to find a man’s arm blocking her way.

“I’m sorry, Council Minister, nobody is allowed to leave.” He said, a genuine tone of apology in his voice. His thin lips were tightly held, as if words were precious commodities which should not be wasted.

“According to whom?”

“A joint command, Madam. The PSIS and the Chancellor have both declared a lockdown on all Government buildings.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure, but you can’t leave.”

Sauter sighed with the sheer ridiculousness of it all. She had business to attend to back at the Ministry. There was work to be done, and instead of being able to do it she was being kept prisoner by Kahr and Ezekiel in some sort of bizarre security alert. Resigning to the facts, she turned and found herself a seat on one of the foyer sofa’s, trying desperately to avoid the gaze of a journalist who also appeared to have been caught in the wrong place at the worst possible time.

PSIS HQ, Prezdorf, Parilisa

The building was already alive with activity when Ezekiel arrived. Men and women buzzed around like panicked flies, none of them completely sure what was happening, but all of them acutely aware of the presence of a major national crisis. Most of them seemed not to notice the Chancellor as he rushed down the corridor to Kahr’s office in the nerve centre of the building.

Packed almost to bursting with various important looking figures, the room was so loud that it was almost impossible to hear oneself think. Laptops whirred and educated voices were raised, as Kahr showed flicked through the details emblazoned on his screen for what must have been the hundredth time.

“Update me, Kahr.” Said the Chancellor, attempting to hold some authority in his voice, despite his apparent invisibility in the room of distracted individuals. Kahr turned his feline features to focus on the leader, and spoke with a controlled and accurate tone.

“The Ambassador is going to keep an eye on things in Nidia. Their air force are, apparently, trying to persuade the pilot to land, although we don’t know if the hijack has taken place yet or not. I’ve ordered the Republican Guard to block off all buildings, and I spoke to Joe Heind on the phone just a few moments ago. I’ve said that he can do whatever he wants to stop this getting out.”

“On a scale of one to ten, how fucked are we right now?”

“About 8 at the moment, but if Klein is killed…”

“If Klein is killed then we’re off the bloody scale.”

DIPLOJET

The pilot was panicking. The jamming was frightening enough, but the sudden presence of Nidian aircraft at various points around the plane was terrifying. He did not fear death, but he did fear the plan being discovered prematurely. That would cause unforeseeable damage to the plot which his masters would by now be in the process of enacting.

Of course, he could go for it now. He could turn a little early, head towards his desired destination as soon as he could.

Yes. That was the best way.

His mind unraveling like a piece of ribbon, the hijacker turned the plane southwards; heading into what he presumed was Nidian airspace.

Klein, reading his newspaper, felt the turn, and, for a moment, thought that he saw another aircraft through the window.

“That’s odd.” He said.



Federal High Command, Nidia

Köhle felt the hand of history brush against his shoulder.

Klein was a living deity to the people of Parilisa. He had led them into glory as they seized the city of Prezdorf from the fascists. He had built the shattered state into a thriving economy. He had given them healthcare, education, human rights, justice and equality. He had built the Republic with his bare hands, leading the SDP into victory after victory in the elections. He was the ultimate anti-fascist, the butcher of injustice, the destroyer of the dictatorship. He was the heir to Faust. He was a hero.

And now his life was fragile, closer to danger than at any time before. He had seen of coup after coup, assassination attempt after assassination attempt. Time and time again he had survived when survival seemed impossible. But this, this was something on a scale never before seen.

This was a matter of life and death, not just for one person, but for 3.5 billion.